


In The Event of My Mental Incapacitation

by macgyvershe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dark Clouds with silver linings, John's not going for it, M/M, Major Character Injury, Power of Attorney
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 08:55:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1934691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macgyvershe/pseuds/macgyvershe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a major injury, Sherlock makes his wishes known. John's not having it and things couldn't look worse, until they look better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Event of My Mental Incapacitation

Written in that elegant hand that John knew so well. The words burned John’s eyes.

In the event of my mental incapacitation, John, I ask you to assist me one last time. You have my power of attorney; if I am unable to make decisions for myself then you must do this for me. You must allow me to slip away. Disconnect any life support, do whatever is necessary for me to find my death.

Tears streamed down John’s cheeks, he could not see, nor did he want to. He sat and read the paper repeatedly. Severely injured on their last case Sherlock lay in a hospital bed, John at his side. He was not brain dead, but there was little chance now that he would recover from the coma that the injury had induced.

“I will NOT do this shite. I will not let you go, Sherlock. Never.” John hung his head and crushed the paper in his hand. He lifted his mobile, speed dialing Mycroft.

“Yes, John,” the sophisticated voice of Mycroft Holmes was, as always, neutral.

“I’ve read through the papers that Sherlock’s solicitor gave me. You know he wanted me to end his life should he become mentally incapacitated?”

“I assumed that he would take that track, John. Since he left these matters in your hands I will, of course, bow to your decision.”

“Mycroft, I will not see him die. I will not follow his instructions,” John was adamant.

“Thank you, John.” Mycroft’s voice was suffuse with the tatters of emotions that he would never reveal to anyone but John. “I want to make you aware that you now have access to Sherlock’s financial resources. I was in charge of this for a while until it was certain that he wasn’t going to return to his use of recreational items. Please feel free to use these resources in whatever way you deem necessary to care for him John.”

“I’m going to bring him home, Mycroft. I’ll take care of him there. He needs to be home. I’ll get some nurses on board who will help me with the day to day, but I want him home.”

“Whatever you need, John. I will personally make sure your requirements are fulfilled.”

John was glad that he did not have to coerce Mycroft. John had made his decision and he would not be denied. It took some wrangling and a great deal of hard work, but Sherlock’s room was converted. He was ensconced in a medical bed with all the paraphernalia necessary to support and monitor his life. There was round the clock personnel available, back-up generator if anything happened to the power. John took up residency on a small trundle bed in Sherlock’s room. Tucked away in a corner then brought out next to Sherlock’s in the evenings.

There were plenty of volunteers to help John care for Sherlock as well as his hired caregivers. John was grateful for the help, but a majority of Sherlock’s care he performed himself. In his spare time, he smiled at that, he read everything he could get on his computer about brain trauma and the cutting-edge science that might be able to help Sherlock. Neuroplasticity/biology. He read this aloud to Sherlock. He wanted the resident genius kept in the loop.

(-_-)

“Now this is me giving you an injection of progesterone. Yes, I know that it is a female hormone. Currently, this hormone therapy has proven scientifically to assist greatly in people with TBI. TBI being Traumatic Brain Injury, which is what you are suffering from. This is me, trying everything I can to bring you back. So you will be subjected to a Brain Port which will provide functional electronic stimulation to your massive and incredibly beautiful brain.” John took Sherlock’s hand in his. “I’m doing everything I possibly can to bring you back on-line, Sherlock.”

John squeezed Sherlock’s large elegant hand between his two smaller hands. Touching his forehead to the precious appendage. Tears formed in his eyes and his breaths came in shuttering sobs. John didn’t let his sadness overcome him in Sherlock’s presence. He drew away and walked to windows to compose himself. Who knew how much individuals with TBI could comprehend? Maybe Sherlock was listening or feeling on some level.

(-_-)

John was attaching a new formula to Sherlock’s feeding tube, keeping up a running commentary to his friend and flat mate. As he always did.

“I hope you like this new meal plan? It’s supposed to be of a higher nutrient content with increased fiber so we will see.”

“Jaa.”

John startled and looked into silver grey green eyes slowly opening. They didn’t focus on him, nor did the brain behind those eyes appear to be cognitive of his presence. It was the first time Sherlock had made a sound or opened those exotic eyes of his for more than a moment since the injury.

“Jaaaa.” Sherlock’s head lolled toward John. The resident Doctor smiled throwing his arms around Sherlock and hugging him gently but firmly.

“Sherlock.” John felt emotion overcome him. Joy ran through him and his heart exploded with it.

(-_-)

Of course, it wasn’t a total come back in just a minute. It was the beginning of Sherlock moving back into everyone’s life. There was still months and months of hard work, physical therapy and reacquainting himself with who he was. 

Everyone said it was a miracle, phenomenal, fantastic, but Sherlock knew. He knew in his heart that it wasn’t about miracles or any rubbish like that. He knew that it was all to do with John. His love and virtue, his constancy and concern was such that no man could match it. John happened and nothing and no one could supersede that. 

(-_-)

Sherlock lay on his normal bed. His room returned to its normal situation, which is to say it was chaotic and semi-clean. It had been a long day of walking and talking, of meeting the boundaries of his body and pushing further past its present limitations. John was puttering in the kitchen making tea, corralling biscuits and humming like a busy little bee.

“Here we go m’dear.” John’s face shown with a euphoric happiness bringing tea and biscuits to Sherlock’s bedside.

Sherlock used the towel draped about his neck to wipe the still remaining sweat from his head. 

“How do I ever thank you, John?” Sherlock’s eyes were molten silver with touches of storm tossed seas.

“It’s just tea and biscuits, Sherlock. Not the Magna Carta.”

“I’m not talking about the tea and biscuits.” Sherlock replied tilting his head to look at the very beautiful face of John Watson.

“You. In all the wasteland of my memory during my unconscious state. I heard you talking to me. Constantly, I never wanted you to stop. Holding on to your voice gave me…hope. Then there was those times when you crawled onto my bed and held me. Talking and sometimes singing, a soft tenor that still helps me find sleep. You never gave up on me. When I asked you to terminate what I thought was a useless existence.” 

Sitting on the edge of Sherlock’s bed, John took up his tea blew on it and sipped on the fiery brew.

“I was doing what had to be done, Sherlock. I couldn’t lose you. I knew you would understand. I’m sure you would do the same for me?” He lifted a biscuit from the plate and devoured it while he devoured Sherlock’s gaze.

“I would do anything for you John. I only regret one thing.”

“What’s that?” John was curious.

Sherlock took John’s teacup and placed it on the tea tray. “I wasn’t able to hug you back.” He opened his arms hoping to find John filling them. Which he did without a moment’s hesitation.

It was the only time that John could remember that he had heard Sherlock crying. A soft sound muffled by the way that he burrowed into John’s shirt. John held him with all the strength and compassion that he could find in his heart. There was a couple of metric tons of it there.

“It will all work out in the end. Your full recovery may take a couple of years. You’ll be as good as gold again before you know it.” John said stroking the inky curls of Sherlock’s head. 

John ever the conductor of light. Positive, protective and capable of pushing Sherlock to greater and greater heights by setting the standards of being human so very high.

Sherlock laid down on his bed pressing John down with him.

“What are we doing?” John asked with some trepidation.

“I am holding you and you are holding me. Now I’m going to kiss you forcefully, fully and with great intent to cause deep emotional bonding.”

Sherlock’s kiss was forceful and did begin a whole lot of emotional bonding. Though, to be fair, John was no slouch in the kissing department. Luckily, Sherlock was an extremely quick study and before you could say ‘bob’s your uncle’ the snogging lead to fondling, folding and some creative use of appendages of all sizes, shapes and tensile strengths. 

It was a moment in time when nothing could go wrong and everything was exceptionally right. Clothes became optional and love was obligatory. And, frankly, Sherlock and John could not be arsed about whether or not the world was turning or not. Everything came down to Baker Street. An extra-long bed and the men who inhabited it. Men who finally got their priorities straight and no they were not gay. They were John and Sherlock, best friends, flat mates, co-conspirators, collaborators and finally lovers extraordinaire. With little thought of ever letting go of what they had finally been able to find in each other.


End file.
